Zombie Ever After (9 page)

“She already is an experiment, of her own making, her own genetics. Once she got bit, she became one. Besides, there’s no other way. People are getting sick by the thousands. She quite possibly holds the cure to saving us all—you included. I thought you’d be pleased.” Egesa finished speaking and looked away from Donovan at the floor, then back at Cathren’s corpse through the window.

“As you can see,” Egesa said, waving his hand like a magician. “The situation is very much under control, yes? She’s here. We’re ready to rock and roll, so to speak.”

Donovan startled, as if waking from a dream. He shook his head and tried to focus on his surroundings. But he kept his eyes on Cathren.

“What do you mean? What are you saying?” he said. “Isn’t she dead?”

“That’s what we’re trying to determine,” Egesa said, smiling and inadvertently smacking his lips with a
pop
as he did so. “Don’t get your hopes up. She has movement. She is making noises. But she has no vital signs. None. At least not yet.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“She’s dead, yes this is true. But she also may be, um, reanimating. We’ve seen this before with our frozen heads at ATELIC. Like the head that bit her—” Egesa hesitated. “But, then, well, it’s at best a 50/50 proposition. Worse odds, actually. The reanimation might not take, in other words. It could be what we call a
faux
réveil
. A false reanimation.”

As Donovan watched her, Cathren’s lids drooped over her eyes like twin shrouds. At first, Donovan thought she was drifting off to sleep—from the drugs, from exhaustion. But no, her eyelids had definitely moved. Then she groaned. It grew louder and, as he stared through the window, the skin on her forehead parted slightly. The wound grew wider bit by bit as he observed her, yet there was no blood. The moaning continued and another part of her face started to peel away. Then, suddenly, everything stopped. Her skin healed immediately. Pristine.

Donovan’s mouth hung open. He wanted to stand, to run to her. To take her back, take her away. But he couldn’t move.

“So you witness it for yourself now. Good. Unfortunately, however,” Egesa said, “it means nothing. Or everything. We just don’t know yet.”

“What—what can I do?” Donovan asked.

“Simple,” Egesa said. “You can help us help her. Just tell us everything you know. Everything you witnessed in the last couple of days, yes? It’s critical you do this. It may be the only way we can save her.”
 

“Save her from what?” Donovan asked, turning his gaze at last from Cathren back to Egesa.

“Herself.”

Back in his cell, Donovan slumped against the wall. He now grasped the situation better than Egesa thought. These people were not looking for a way to save Cathren; they wanted to examine her, to rip her apart, to destroy her. Despite whatever crap Egesa was trying to sell him, these weren’t the good guys. Donovan had to get out. More importantly, he had to get Cathren out. Something told him if he didn’t, they would both be dead before long.

Fortunately, Donovan’s cell was more like a guest room than a prison. He was, apparently, free to go as he pleased. So he did. He crept down the hall to the room that housed Cathren.

He studied her through the small, Plexiglas window in the door. Was she dead or alive? Was he just dreaming all this? Cathren’s eyes were closed and she appeared to be asleep. Every couple of seconds she’d scream or groan or shudder. Donovan cautiously opened the door and went in.

“Cathren,” Donovan whispered as he approached her. “It’s me.”
 

Cathren stopped her monster noises abruptly, like a snoring sleeper who’d been interrupted. Donovan touched her hand. He didn’t know what to expect. More screaming? More struggling?

She opened her eyes and looked at him. Donovan wanted to believe he saw love in those eyes. He brushed his hand gently on her cheek, and she smiled weakly.

“Gotta get you out of here,” he said softly. “Do you think you can walk?”
 

She didn’t try to talk. Maybe in her condition she couldn’t. But she nodded slowly.

Donovan had tears in his eyes, he wasn’t sure why. Joy, that had to be it. Only it didn’t feel like joy. She was here, his, looking at him. It was Cathren, but it wasn’t Cathren.

“Okay, good. Now, let me see,” he said, examining the tube in her arm, puzzling over the setup. A small needle in her arm, held with tape. That was all. He undid the tape carefully.
 

“Okay. I don’t know anything about this kind of stuff,” he said. “So, this could hurt a bit.” He pulled the needle out of her arm; it bled a tiny bit where the needle had been.
 

Blood! She’s bleeding blood. That has to be a good sign, I think. I mean, can cadavers bleed? Maybe they can, I don’t know...

Donovan looked around, but didn’t spot any bandages. “I’ll get you all fixed up as soon as we get the hell out of here,” he said.
 

He helped her to her feet and she slowly raised herself to her full height. Donovan could tell she was in a lot of pain. He glanced at her bandages and wondered if they had been changed since she’d “died.”

Then, suddenly, there was no time for him to take care of her or worry about her anymore. Something more worrisome had arrived: Burkhart Egesa and his minions. Three bodyguards, built like small mountains.

“This is unfortunate,” Egesa grimaced. “Very unfortunate. You need to realize that we are her last, best hope. Oh, well.” He snapped his fingers dramatically over his head. “Take them now,” he said. “Kill him if you must. The girl, we still need.”

The thugs rushed toward them, one at Donovan and one at Cathren. The third stood guard at the door. One lout punched Donovan in the stomach. This, conveniently, bent him over directly into a right cross. Donovan fell down, twisted like a pretzel and bleeding. He struggled to stand up, but was met by a kick to the face. Lights spun and sparkled around his head. He knew that much more of this would put him under. A whole lot more would put him
six feet
under.

He needed to try, to fight back, to save Cathren. That’s when he noticed it was raining.

This must be what happens when you start to go into a coma. You see red rain.

Donovan was nearly out cold. But he kept his cool and was conscious enough to know it does not rain indoors. Even in his altered state, he noticed that the rain falling on the linoleum floor all around him was red. Not Prince’s Purple Rain, but the Devil’s Red.

Blood, of course. Blood spray. Blood sport. Then gunshots thundered. It was all he could take. Cathren needed him. Now.

Angered, determined, Donovan wrenched himself upright. He head-butted his tormentor in the chin, sending the brute stumbling backward. Donovan spun around, looking for the other goon, hoping to use the element of surprise to kick him in the balls.
 

Someone, however, had beat him to it. Thug #2 lay on the floor in pieces. Literally disassembled. Donovan turned to locate Cathren, to save her from the horror show. But it wasn’t her who needed saving.

As weak as the drugs had made her, and despite being freshly deceased, Cathren had made a stand. Barely able to stay upright, she had somehow ripped her captors apart. Like in olden times, when a victim’s limbs would be tied, one limb to each of four horses, and a slap would send those horses galloping off in four different directions. Cathren needed no horse power, however. She was doing it all by herself.

Donovan stood stunned, frozen, and splattered with specks of blood. Meanwhile, Cathren caught and killed the last bodyguard. She didn’t bother to pull the gun out of his hand. She simply yanked his entire arm off, gun and all. This left only Egesa as her last target, the last man standing. He stood by the door, an expression of horror on his face. Or perhaps it was his normal arrogant expression. It was almost impossible to tell.

Cathren appeared more dead than alive. Her skin molted off her like the skin of a snake. She stepped in Egesa’s direction and reached out, moaning with the pain of the damned. The look in her eyes told Donovan that she was determined to finish off each and every one of her enemies. Egesa was built like an upended brick and seemed as strong as the ox he also resembled. Even so, against this machine Cathren had become, no one stood a chance. Which is why he was armed. He was far enough away to have the advantage. Cathren simply could not move that fast.

“Too bad,” Egesa said. “I would have liked to study you more closely. Every secret. Every fold. Every sweet crevice. I’d have liked to use you to prove my theories. I smelled a Nobel Prize, quite frankly. But, alas...”
 

With that, he raised the .45, pointing it at Cathren. He smiled-slash-grimaced and said, “Good bye, my sweet. We could have been great together.”
 

He pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Either he had, in his superior knowledge, forgotten to load the gun, or the safety was still on. Regardless, Cathren was almost upon him, so he turned and fled, his broken laugh echoing down the hall.

Cathren stopped. Her arms drooped and she sagged in place, her head bowed. Donovan realized at that moment that she had no control over this thing happening to her. He strode over and held her in his arms once more. At last.

Cathren cried, softly, as she slowly turned human once again.

Donovan and Cathren escaped the gloomy ATELIC building and tried to put what happened in there behind them. They exited the parking lot and staggered along the road parallel to the building. Here, out on the street, it was hard to know exactly where they were. What Donovan knew for sure was they were not in what he’d call a respectable neighborhood.
 

Donovan held Cathren as they walked, supporting her, her strength now gone. They limped up to the busier road ahead, numb from their earlier experiences. When they reached the intersection, Donovan glanced at the street sign: El Camino Real. But what town, what city? Donovan hoped a cab would come by. None did. As they walked, the sun setting, they approached a covered bus stop and paused to rest.
 

They sat down on the bench and waited. There was nothing else to do. No one to call. Even if there had been, Donovan’s cell phone was missing, but at least he still had his wallet. Cathren, of course, had nothing. Donovan felt his body droop from fatigue. Cathren slumped next to him and fell quietly asleep.

The twilight enveloped them as the streets emptied. A couple of gang-types appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. More showed up. A small gathering, assembling near them, giving them the eye. Or, to be honest, giving Cathren the eye. It only occurred to Donovan at that moment that she still wore her hospital gown, her legs, back, and one shoulder fully exposed. The two of them looked as if they’d been in a war. Which, in a way, they had. Donovan wondered whether a bus would even stop for them: the crazy looking couple being harassed by gang members.
 

The sun had now set fully. Night arrived, dark and cold. The circle of gang members constricted around them. Cathren, sleeping, seemed almost in a trance. Her eyes were open, but she breathed slow and steady, like the washing of waves upon a beach under the moon.
 

“Hey,
chica,
” one of the gang members hissed.
 

Donovan turned and glared at them. He tried his best to give them the stare-down, but they were in it now. They had started the dance, initiated contact through the shout. The invisible wall had collapsed.

“Hey, what you two doing? Sheet, what happened to you,
holmes?
You been in a fight or somethin’?”
 

“Why don’t you get lost,” Donovan breathed.

“What’s that,
holmes?”

Donovan cleared his throat. “Get lost,” he said, as forcefully as he could.

“That’s not very nice,
hombré
. We just trying to be friendly. Just want to talk to the
chica
. Hey,
chica
, you lookin’ real pretty tonight.” The man made “kissy” noises and the group of them laughed, shoving at each other. “Maybe you want to part with the gringo, eh? Maybe you want to party with me and my boys, sí?”
 

“Get lost, assholes,” Donovan said, standing up. His body ached; he felt both exhausted and disgusted. “This is not going to end well,” he said, barely audible. “Trust me.”

“Oooh!” someone from the group mocked him.

“I mean it,” Donovan said. “Leave now. While you can still breathe.”
 

“Okay, tough guy, we get it,” the one wearing a wife-beater said. Prison tats ran up both arms and both sides of his neck. He stood at the front of the group.
 

Donovan walked up to him. Their noses nearly touched.

“Okay, Pedro. You sure you want a piece of this? Look at me. I’m already covered in blood. How many kills do you think I’ve had already tonight? Huh? One? Ten?”
 

“Sure, I get it,” the gang leader said. He didn’t blink. He said, “You one funny gringo,” but he didn’t laugh.

There wasn’t a sound. Almost complete silence. Only the hum of cars whizzing by somewhere in the distance. A night bird called, perhaps an owl. Far away, a siren faded into the night.

The leader waved his hand in the air. The group broke into laughter. Loud, squawking. They slapped each other. They leaned on each other, wearing themselves out on the “joke.” The gang leader waved his hand again. Instant, deadly silence.

Donovan didn’t wait for them to start. He sent a kick straight for the leader’s nuts. The man dropped as expected. The rest of them hesitated for a split-second. It was long enough. Donovan grabbed Cathren. They started running, although she sleep-ran at best.

“You bitches gonna die!” someone shouted. They couldn’t have been more than ten feet behind Donovan and Cathren. So close, in fact, that if anyone cared to notice, they appeared to be one big happy family. Out for a run along the sidewalk. Enjoying an evening in the ’hood.

Donovan spied a break in the traffic. He sprinted across El Camino, dragging Cathren along with him. A few cars, traveling faster than Donovan had estimated, honked as they avoided the couple.